Dysfunctional
by anthonygreenism
Summary: Axel was thirteen when he first held the new born Roxas, he was fifteen when the babysitting started and seventeen when he fell in love with a child.


The [ **prologue**]

* * *

Axel's a lover of what kills him; two packs of American spirit balanced on his thin thigh as his head tilts backwards and darkness drapes over him. Crepuscular stars hardly glint against their background but they replace the ones that have faded from his emerald hues and make him look as good as new, only he's not. Tears fall from his eyes in a such a fleeting manner it'd be hard to spot them in the twilight unless you were looking, really _really_ looking at his broken features, his crooked nose and bleeding lip, past all the petty imperfections and to the stains on his cheek that show that no he's not okay. No one's around to look though so there's no point in trying to clean away the damp that cools his burning skin.

Long fingers awaken and fiddle with the pack closest to him, both new and opened for his convenience. There's the sharp sound of him flicking on a lighter, summoning a flame that draws his eyes from the sky so he could watch it dance and it's all shortly followed by a rancid smell, one that clogs his nose and clouds his lungs. Yet the cancer stick is brought to his lips anyway and he's not sure why he's still doing all this and wasting all that money but he _is_. Maybe because it's an escape. Quick and if he's lucky enough sometimes his head will spin and lift him from his porch as the discomfort of nicotine rush settles down, clouding his thoughts until it fades, sending him crashing back down to normality.

But he doesn't like normal, because his normal is repulsive.

He's a sick man, you see. He's what you read about in newspapers and watch on documentaries; he's like the dirty fuckers that reside behind iron bars and the bastards in court rooms with sly grins and half arsed comb overs. Maybe on a good day he's just like a college student, staring longingly to who he wants but may never have for reasons that are plain as day. There aren't many good days now though, not since his last birthday, not since everything started to slip out of his oh so controlling grasp.

It's completely unrelated and entirely unnecessary, but as he sits and draws smoke from his twenty seventh cigarette of the day, he thinks about how he can can count the things he loves on the his left hand.

He loves storms that come without warning, when the clouds block out the sun and the thunder crashes outside in the harsh world demanding to be heard. It's even better if he's outside, the wind pulling strands of fiery red hair from his face as rain like bullets beat down on him like he's being shot from a thousand different angles, like he should be. It's breathtaking and so when the lightening flashes and sharp moments of shockingly bright and flickering light brighten the dark, he thinks of Roxas, and maybe that's why he loves Storms.

He loves smoking and the rasp in his voice and tinted yellow fingertips have become proof enough of that. The way thick clouds of poison smoke tumbled from him as he parted his lips and freed his lungs gave him a feeling of euphoria because upon the moment of release he felt pure. He felt pure and clean and light until he took a breath and felt the irritation in his throat and tightness of his lungs. He didn't yawn like he used to, he couldn't. Never had he thought of giving up and so everyday he'd smoke two and a half twenty packs of whatever hadn't risen in price overnight and puff away whenever he had the chance.

He loves those moments where he's alone and not thinking. But they're oh so rare and when he thinks about the fact he's not thinking he begins to think about everything and it all becomes very, very depressing. However when he's not, his thoughts of nothing weave through one another in the most blissful state he could've wished for. His room, which is normally where these small miracle moments occur, is always quiet aside from the buzzing of his mind and gasps for breaths from destroyed lungs. Sometimes he thinks, he loves these moments above all else..

Then, oddly enough, he loves peanut butter. Not all types of peanut butter, because sometimes even sick men with no right to peanut butter in the first place have preferences. Standard peanut butter isn't something he particularity enjoys but if push came to shove he'd more than likely use it on his sandwiches (not with brown bread as he's tried it and the ghastly taste is _truly_ something else) but to win the shattered pieces of his heart give him organic. The taste of fresh apples adds something else and the taste buds that have survived years of harsh treatment allow the taste to linger upon them until his next cigarette.

And finally, he loves Roxas. Roxas, the short, blonde thirteen year old little boy who lives exactly fourteen doors down on the opposite side of the road. Roxas who started year eight just a month ago has had no faults and never would. Axel would know as the boy grew up before his eyes. He held him as the blond squirmed within a soft blanket, whines and gurgles leaving his tiny mouth as baby blues that never did change colour stared up to the hormonal mess above him. Axel's mother, who so happened to be best friends with Roxas', had her hands hovering above Axel's should his hold be faulty and he drop the new born Roxas. Not that he'd allow himself to be so foolish, the child - no, baby - was someone special and at thirteen, Axel first became infatuated with the other.

Though he wasn't _in_ love.

No that came later, six years later after multiple babysitting jobs and before school runs while he himself made his way to college all piled on the confusion. He was meant to be attracted to slender girls who wore short skirts and push up bras, not a little boy with bruises on his knees and baby fat on his cheeks. All of it added up until he came to the conclusion that he was sick. A sick perverted man who deserved to be locked up because no matter how hard he tried he found himself always going back to the one person he longed to stay away from.

It's wasn't until his cigarette began to burn his fore and middle finger that he notices how long he'd been sat there.

The nub was thrown from his grasp and into the make-do ashtray beside his chair on the porch, an old plant pot with damp soil lingering deep down below all the cigarettes Axel and his mother smoked over the course of the past month. For a moment, the amount that resides in the plain brown pot plagues his mind and he thinks that, despite the fact there's two of them and they smoke in places aside from the porch, there's too many cigarettes in there. Far too many for them to be healthy people with fully functioning bodies and he knows that's what's wrong with her, yet, she refuses to see a doctor. She just smiled at the idea and her sons undeniable love for her because she won't go, she'll never go because she's scared.

Once she knows she's sick the thoughts wont ever go away, and Axel understood her in more ways than one. Instead she would close her eyes and stand on her tiptoes in a circle of salt every day for the last seven decades in the hopes that in her next life she would be something better. Something with a softer husband and the same son; better opportunities and wilder nights out with kinder friends.

He hoped with all his heart as he stood from his chair and listened the the wooden planks under his feet creak that she would have her new life because she deserved it, only he'd like to remove himself from her dream because no one deserved the burden that was his entirety. He was a nuisance; not the rowdy type that brought friends home every night and stayed out to go knows what hours in the morning doing unspeakable things. No he was the other type of nuisance, the quiet kind that slept throughout the days he wasn't working to pay off his fathers gambling debt and stumbled round at night, hands shoved deep within his pockets aside from those moments in which he found a familiar craving at the base of his tongue. It all worried his mother to no end, ergo, he was a nuisance.

Perhaps, he thought as he pushed open the door to his home and sauntered in, perhaps if his Father hadn't spiralled the family into untold debt he could've escaped a long time ago. Escaped from what he wasn't sure, but escaped none the less. For his father, though he appeared to be a kind hearted man, thin and long like his son with hair as shocking at the sunset, he was so sad. So utterly down on himself that just a mere glance to himself in the mirror would send his stomach churning in disgust. Not because he was ugly, because he wasn't, but because he was a failure. At some point, neither Axel nor his Mother was entirely sure when, he was fired and spent his days gambling his money away for the simple reason that he _could_. Despite the debt they currently found themselves in he continued to and since the TV in the living room was switched off and the only sounds were those of his feet shuffling against the smooth, cool flooring and Mothers finger nails tapping rhythmically on the wooden surface of the table he could deduct that that's where his father was now; gambling away what money Axel brought in from his rather well paying job until he ran out.

It was because of this, he resented his Father and loved dearly his Mother. As he slipped off his sneakers and his socked feet padded into the kitchen he smiled to her as her eyes glued to the screen of her phone. Leaning down with slow apathetic movements he placed a kiss on her cheek which snapped her back to reality. A smile was shared between the two and after what seemed like an awkward eternity Axel broke the contact and walked to the fridge, mouth dry and an odd craving for lemonade settled at the tip of his taste buds; he was most distraught to find they had none and so, a thin sluggish arm closed the door and he turned on his heal heading for his bedroom, mind plagued with thoughts of Roxas and lemonade.

Every creek of the steps below his feet; every rusty breath and tap of nails against the banister echoed against his pounding skull, it all makes him slip further and further from reality until he decided he needed air.

He needed air and lemonade and _Roxas_. He needed Roxas so badly but it's wrong. He can't have him because there's an age gap of thirteen years and even if he did try to reason with himself, and he doesn't, it would always be disgusting. So, before he could even reach his bedroom door his body twisted unbeknownst to himself and those long legs bound back down his stares, nimble fingers grabbing his coat than hung from the home made hanger and throwing it over his frail body. His Mother called to him from the kitchen but he instantly decided there was no time to answer as his shattered little heart thudded violently against his chest, threatening to be heard.

The door to his home was flung open and he strode into the chilling September air and just as quickly it slammed shut. Pale hands with veins that stuck too far out were shoved within his pockets as he walked at a brisk pace to nowhere, eyes closed as he knows the streets better than he knows himself; a quality he finds himself hiding because frankly it's just shameful.

Then again, so is falling for a child.

Axel of course hadn't told Roxas, but the boy was young, not dumb and so with every glance and fleeting touch it became clearer in his sapphire eyes that his dear babysitter didn't love him like a little brother, not any more. The blonde had begun to question whether he ever had.

Axel's eyes opened as his legs stopped moving and just like that he'd found himself outside _someone's_ house, porch light flickering on as it detected the presents of a familiar face. For a moment he played on the thought of leaving; on the idea of turning around and going to the local corner shop to pick up some lemonade and peanut butter before calling it a night and heading home, trying his hardest to lead a normal life with what's left of him. Something was stopping him though, it dragging his feet forward through the gate and past tire swing that was swaying slowing in an almost mocking way. Here he noticed he wasn't wearing shoes, only socks yet he continued to walk round to the back of the house until he was standing thirteen feet below Roxas' bedroom window on the second floor.

Numbers were playing a far larger part in his life that he wanted them too.

The window was open and Axel knew it was because the little boy was expecting this; a sickening thought for his mind to play on at a later date but no time was wasted before he hissed out his name and a blond mess jutted out from the home. Roxas gave a smile that's all too wide and then vanished again, window closing and light disappearing so Axel is left entirely with his sick _sick_ thoughts.

"Axel." His voice is too many octaves too high but it was like music to the man's ears. Slowly his head turned and he paced over to the glass door Roxas had silently emerged from and was sliding shut, tiny hands slowly guiding the door to the right until he heard a click and smiled, seemingly proud of his achievement. A seat was taken down on the cool slab and as a sigh escaped him his back was placed against the glass, a shiver running down his spin as a cool blow of air hit him. Roxas, whom had been watching Axel's every move did the exact same.

Axel's smart and witty and handsome and when Roxas grows up he's going to be just like him!

"How was school?" The words are forced out for the sake of convocation because he doesn't want to know, he doesn't want to think about how Roxas just started year eight and how he's got a full time job. He just wants _Roxas_. A nattering about Art studies and the new science labs floats though the are and he wondered if when Roxas grows up, like really grows up, will he still love him? Still adore him in the same way he does now? Maybe he's just an awful human through and through who needed him to be youthful if his love were to still remain, but then his eyes were allowed to skim over the other and he took a moment to bask in his entirety. His hair that seems to have been kissed by sunlight and his eyes that are deeper than the sea that Axel would be all too happy to drown in. He understood then that he'd love Roxas no matter what form he took and it was slightly reassuring. Only slightly though because when he looked up from his little speech words tumble from Axel's mouth like smoke.

"Where's your Mom?"

"She's asleep on the sofa 'cause she's had a long day and don't wanna disturb Dad." Roxas shuffled closer to the older man and rested his head against his shoulder. He likes Axel, he likes him a lot but he knows he shouldn't so instead of vocalizing it he nuzzles against him hoping he'll understand.

"You sure she's sleeping?"

"If she wasn't she'd have told us off by now." Spoken, as if it were obvious.

There was such innocents in his words that it was almost shocking to feel himself moving closer to the boy, an arm snaking round his waist and dragging him over the concrete while listening to the sound of fabric scraping against the floor. It was wrong but he lent down anyway, eyes closing as Roxas tilted his head back and straightens his posture because if he hadn't, the redhead might not have been able to reach him. Their lips brushed for a brief moment before something overtook Axel, something stronger than himself and he lent further down, kissing with unseen passion that'd been stored away for so long he all but forgot how to breath. His head spun and he accepted the fact he'd lost himself, fingertips fiddling with the rim of Roxas' shirt and brushing against the soft, otherwise untouched skin that resided there, begging to be kissed.

Somehow he stopped himself. Somehow he pulled away and looked down to greet a pair of eyes that glint with the reflection of stars within them, light emanating to Axel as Roxas was truly ecstatic. The butterflies were no longer just fluttering around his stomach but they were charging head first against him, begging to be freed. It almost hurt to watch a smile so sweet and kind grace his features as Axel had just taken something that wasn't rightfully his. The worst part was that as he shifted himself to a position where he was hovering over the boy and avoiding Roxas' words of confusion, he was glad he did. No one else would cherish his first kiss the way he did.

It was sloppy and messy but it was from _him_ and that's all that really mattered.

Axel, for the first time that day smiled, and Roxas smiled back, quickly telling him there was a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach. It took a moment but soon Axel caught on, eyes glancing though the door for any signs of _anything_ before he lent down once again and rejoins their lips, it's all at a quicker pace this time and somehow he'd found it within himself to run a hand over the top of the blonds pyjama bottoms.

There's not much there, but then he remembers he was thirteen and there isn't meant to be much there.

A moan, a quiet, innocent moan that could be mistaken for a gasp of air is what really tipped Axel over the edge. Well, over the edge, off a cliff and into a river in which he subsequently drown in while not really bothering to cry for help because he_ really fucking wants this_. He scooped the limp bodied boy into his arms and scanned again the glass window before turning on his heal and walking to the back of the garden, to a clearing behind the shed ten year old Roxas once used as a dysfunctional playhouse. His actions were wrong and if word got out that he was seen at midnight behind a shed with the boy he's been babysitting for the better half of thirteen years he'd finally get what he deserved.

They were kissing again and with a jolt of a movement Roxas' arms where holding Axel too tightly around the neck, causing his forehead to hit against the others thin collar bone as a hand slipped below the elasticated band of the boys bottoms. It was far from comfortable and he'd rather be watching Roxas' expression as thin fingers wrap around his childlike erection, but then he remembered he was kneeling in dirt so he silenced his thoughts. Instead, his hand pumped gently against Roxas and simply he listened to the whimpers and hums for more that escape the other. Axel's held Roxas quivering in his arms like this once before; when Roxas was three days old and he was thirteen.

He's a sick paedophile because there's no other reason for him to be enjoying any of this.

He wanted all that Roxas had to offer but he'd already told himself he wasn't going to take it because under the dark sky and it's crepuscular stars he'd come to terms with the fact that he wasn't worthy. When his victim arched up into his hand with a quiet moan of his name, a coating of stick white liquid finds itself over Axel's hands to which he pulls away and wipes it on his jeans because what else can he do?

Roxas was led with his back to the rotten wood and Axel mumbled out three words he'll always regret, because they weren't said back and rather he's given just a smile in return. The blond pushed himself forward and against his babysitters chest, ready to be held. Only he wasn't, not like he normally was. Axel scooped the boy back against the warmth of his entirety and walked quickly back to the entrance to the over sized home and placed him down. Their goodbye was short as he really needed to leave so with a quick kiss on the boys forehead he headed for somewhere else.

"..Are you picking me up after school tomorrow?" There was hurt ringing in the victims voice because all he wanted was to be held by the one person he adored above all else. He wanted the convocation to go on and on but he could barely keep his eyes open and already he'd begun slowly opening the door back to his home, as quietly as he physically possible because if his mother woke up he'd be hung, drawn and quartered.

"Yeah. Go to sleep kiddo." Axel didn't turn around as he spoke and instead he just began walking.

He walked from Roxas' house and past his own; he walked past rows and rows of other houses full of normal people who unlike himself have the blessing otherwise known as a good nights rest. He walked and walked and walked until he found himself back at him home; all the lights out bar the one he'd accidentally left on in his room and his Fathers car still missing from it's parking spot in the driveway. That's the thing with Destiny Islands. You can't run from anything because sooner or later you land back where you started.

Currently, it's three in the godforsaken morning and the rest of the word's asleep aside from those in love and people with troubled minds. Axel's both.

His eyes latched to himself in the bathroom mirror and he wondered when those once glowing green eyes lost their light. He ponders upon the date when he cheeks became hollow and the season his lips began to crack. He's lost himself in madness and hurt the one he swore he never would and just like that everything is awful. In his tainted hand he holds a bottle of prescription medicine and along the sink sit four more, all his Fathers.

As his mind plays on the events of the evening, a bright flickering light flashes outside the bathroom window, shortly followed by the howl of thunder. He loved unexpected storms because they reminded him of Roxas, and tonight he'd hurt him.

With pills in hand he was going to be damn sure he'd never be able to do that again.


End file.
